


Heat of the Moment

by unrestrainedpassion



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: AU, Danny is a dragon, M/M, dragon!AU, i'm only a little sorry, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestrainedpassion/pseuds/unrestrainedpassion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's up with Danny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed
> 
> This fic is the lovechild of dragons (in general) and This Was No Chicken by imaginarycircus

Steve likes to think he’s pretty observant. He knows when Danny’s having Rachel trouble, or when Chin’s having HPD trouble, or when Kono--actually, Kono doesn’t often have any trouble.

He keeps tabs on his team in this way, watching for body language or verbal triggers that tell him to back off or keep pushing. It’s not often he encounters a cue he doesn’t understand, but today…

Today it happens.

They’re in a bar on the lookout for Fredrick Grace, a transport guy for a local drug trafficking ring. It’s a dingy place; tinny hard rock playing from an old radio, approximately four working lights in the entire joint, beer that tastes like piss--the usual. Doesn’t stop Steve from ordering a glass, and doesn’t stop Danny from reprimanding him under his breath.

“You’re on duty; you can’t drink,” he mutters, sliding fingers in the condensation ring Steve’s glass leaves on the cracked bar. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“You know, small amounts of alcohol actually enhance your reflexes--”

Danny elbows him. “Just--please, no.”

Steve shrugs.

A shifty-looking fellow with a wild bush of black hair scowls at the two from across the bar. Steve furrows his brows, assessing him for a threat. About 5’8”, mid-twenties, native, wiry muscles clinging to his bones. It’s not Fredrick Grace, but why’s he looking at Danny like that?

“Hey, Danny, you see that guy?” Steve asks quietly, nodding in his direction. “Your seven o’clock.”

Danny’s eyes narrow. “It’s him.”

“No, Fredrick Grace is haole.”

Danny looks back at him, irritation clear in his blue eyes. “No, obviously he isn’t our guy, I know that, Steven--I just… I know him. He’s just a thug.”

“What’s his name?”

“Bradley Koa.”

“And when you say thug…?”

Danny opens his mouth to answer and stops, staring at Koa. “Son of a bitch.” He pushes back his barstool and strides over to Koa’s table, sits down, and glares at him.

Steve makes to follow him, once his legs start working--because it’s hard for Steve to remember to breathe when Danny gets all serious like that--but Danny raises a hand in a _‘Stop right there, you wild animal; I’ve got this’_ motion, so Steve settles back onto his uncomfortable perch and watches their conversation warily, ready to intervene in full grenade-chucking fashion if necessary.

The two men are still locked in a glaring contest; the first to look away is Koa. (No surprise there, Steve thinks proudly.) Then the twiggy little man sneers something, and Danny does that thing where he jerks his head back and looks personally offended but also very, very murderous and completely in control, and his hands start waving around like they always do.

Steve gets distracted by a glint of yellow on Koa’s left hand: it’s a plated gold bracelet, with a chain running to a ring on his middle finger. Not something a ‘thug’ would take interest in. Looks real, too--solid gold, if Steve’s still as sharp as he once was. Something’s definitely off.

Two minutes later, he’s proved right. Their chairs shriek as they stand up, in each other’s faces, teeth bared. Steve tenses. Ten seconds pass. Danny’s hands are clenched at his sides, mirroring Koa’s body language, and neither of them make any move.

Steve’s had it; he’s going in, screw any previous overly-expressive hand gestures. Sweat beads on his upper lip as he nears the two men--the temperature seems to go up at least ten degrees. He swipes his hand over his mouth to clear it and places a hand on Danny’s shoulder. The warmth of his partner’s body shoots through him, dancing on his nerve endings like gunfire. He jerks, nearly pulls his hand off Danny’s shoulder like it electrocuted him, but he composes himself and squeezes Danny’s shoulder.

“Danny, c’mon, what are you doing--”

“If you touch me,” Danny growls, and it takes Steve a second to realize this menacing rumble is meant for Koa, not him-- “If you touch me, one scaly hand on me, you’ll start a war between Clan _Mokupuni_ and Clan _Saibhreas_.”

Danny breezes past a shocked Steve and a furious Koa and retakes his seat at the bar. Steve follows numbly, the charge in the air still crackling on his skin. It’s such an odd feeling; he’s simultaneously overheated and filled with vertigo, like he’s toppling over the edge of a skyscraper on fire.

He makes it back to his stool and gulps a huge mouthful of the terrible beer--it’s still cold, and it clears his head somewhat.

Danny’s staring at him oddly, like Steve’s the one acting all funny with weird threats and so, so much heat--

“Why’d you follow me?”

“Why’d I--Why’d _you_ go do--whatever you just did?”

“Because Koa and his people’ve been harassing me. About not being local.”

“His _people_? What? Why didn’t you tell someone?”

Danny shrugs. “I can handle him.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Sure, Danno. And what was all that about clans? I think that was the first time you pronounced something in Hawaiian correctly. What was it? _Mokupuni_ , meaning island, right. Clan _Island_? And what was the other bit? The Gaelic, Irish, something? _Sigh-vrass?_ ”

Danny wrestles the beer mug out of Steve’s sweaty hands and sighs. “I knew I shouldn’t’ve let you drink.”

“But--”

“Hey, bartender, can we get a glass of ice water? Thanks.” Danny thumps him on the back. “But nothing. Our guy’ll be here in fifteen minutes; pull yourself together.”

Steve grudgingly drinks the water without complaint, but he knows better. It was one glass. He wasn’t drunk. Danny’s involved in something… weird. And dangerous. And hell if Steve wasn’t gonna rifle through every bit of Danny’s past to figure out why and who and how to protect him.

In a purely platonic way, he tells himself.

-

Steve has all but forgotten about the incident in the bar. Two weeks have passed, and in that time they’ve smashed their way through six buildings, shot three people, saved nineteen (four of which are children), and collapsed a large section of Hawaiian freeway. That one was an accident. Sort of.

Monday morning eventually rolls around, and Steve finds himself so exhausted he skips his morning swim and sleeps in. When he finally makes it to the office, he makes a beeline straight to the break room and fixes himself some coffee. He breathes in the steam happily as he takes his first sip, burning the tip of his tongue with a yelp. He’ll just have to drink it in his office while he sorts through piles of paperwork (about the freeway they destroyed, unfortunately).

His first step outside the door is interrupted by Danny barreling right into him, hot coffee spilling down his shirt.

“Fuck!” hisses Steve, jumping back.

Danny rolls his eyes. “Another tie ruined, fantastic.”

“Did it burn you?” He looks unharmed.

Danny starts. “Oh--yeah. A little. I’ll be fine.”  

Steve narrows his eyes. “It was boiling hot coffee. It must have burnt you.” Danny isn’t acting at all like someone probably suffering from first and maybe second degree burns to his chest. He’s not bothered--just staring at Steve and smiling uncomfortably. His blue button-down sticks to his chest, brown and translucent with the drink. If Steve weren’t so distracted with concern, he’d be committing the sight to his memory. Actually, if he’s honest with himself, he’s multitasking pretty well right now.

“Steve, I’m fine. I keep plenty of spare shirts here, thanks to your frequent recklessness. The world won’t end because Mr. Guns and Tats was clumsy. Speaking of: the Governor wants to meet with you this evening about the freeway.”

Steve opens his mouth to argue that it was only a small section, really, just how expensive could it possibly be to rebuild? but Danny’s sauntering away and Steve re-latches on to his first question: Why the hell didn’t the coffee burn Danny?

-

The next time something odd happens, Steve only has a split second to think about it. They’re busting in on a small time gang--in a creepy old warehouse, surprise-surprise--and within thirty seconds, Danny and he are cowering behind an old shipping crate, immersed in a gunfight against gangsters with bigger weapons than the standard issue HPD gun. If Steve doesn’t do something--something idiotic, he’s sure Danny will say--one of them is gonna get hurt.

One of their attackers shouts an order in rapid-fire Cantonese. Steve curses himself for only learning Mandarin Chinese.

Danny twists around, fires a shot in the direction of the speaker, misses, and turns back to Steve. “They’re running out of ammo,” he pants, sliding a new clip into his handgun.

“How do you know?”

“That guy just shouted it,” Danny says, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s grown a third ear. “He told his men to save their ammo because that was the last belt.”

“Danny, what--you can speak Cantonese?”

“ _Oh_ \--um, yeah.” Danny shifts closer to the wooden crate, eyelids fluttering.

He doesn’t know how he knows, but Steve knows Danny’s lying. Danny doesn’t speak Cantonese; he once mentioned the only language he’s ever learnt is Spanish, and that was to fulfill a high school graduation requirement. But that doesn’t explain--

A chunk of crate explodes too close to his left ear, and Steve refocuses on the situation. If the gunmen are running out of ammunition, he can--

He springs up, firing straight at a chain suspending another crate above the perps. The metal shrieks, breaks, and comes crashing down on three of the four guys. The last one is so stunned he doesn’t notice Danny aiming until he’s on the floor, gripping a shattered left arm.

“You idiot!” Danny shouts, danger forgotten. “You could have been shot!”

Steve grins. “But I wasn’t.”

The harsh anger in Danny’s eyes gives him pause. There’s a swell of heat, a flashback to that day in the bar, and then the moment passes. Danny swipes a hand over his mouth. “Be careful, you crazy crazy man.”

“Just go book ‘em, Danno.”

Steve doesn’t let the hustle and bustle of making arrests wipe the memory of Danny understanding colloquial Cantonese from his mind. If anything, going through the familiar motions gives him time to think.

First, there was that odd male posturing episode in the bar. Normally--and Steve’s mature enough to admit it--he’s the one doing all the posturing. But that day… Danny’d cut a formidable figure, with clenched fists and a straight spine. The whole thing had reminded Steve of two lions facing off, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with that image.

Then there was the apparent immunity to scalding hot coffee, which was particularly disconcerting. The burn on Steve’s tongue had taken a week to fully heal, and though skin is tougher than the surface of a tongue, Danny’s reaction was just plain wrong. He hadn’t even yelped, just complained about his tie--and he’d behaved so suspiciously after Steve questioned him further.

And now Danny is suddenly multilingual?

No, there’s something fishy going on here; Steve’s sure of it.

Logically, the next step is to discover what exactly is going on. But these clues… they’re nothing like previous leads he’s ever encountered. Where to start?

The more he thinks about it, the first incident is the most explainable. Danny--and his family?-- could be part of a crime family, or a society, back in New Jersey. Maybe one that’s got beef with some local organization--which would explain Koa’s hostility and those weird ‘clan’ things. As much as he hates to imagine his faithful partner (and best friend) as a criminal, it’s the most rational explanation he can come up with at the moment. The only way to dig deeper, however, would be to call Danny’s parents, which would arouse suspicion immediately. He’s gotta suss out the truth without Danny knowing, maybe even going behind his back and snooping in his partner’s past.

He feels horrible just thinking about it.

-

It turns out to be easier than he expected. Three days later, Danny receives an invitation to his cousin Amanda’s wedding back on the mainland. All those Williamses walking around with information about Danny’s life before Hawaii… Steve’s heart jumps at the idea of meeting them.

For investigation purposes, of course.

But he’s getting ahead of himself; Danny hasn’t invited him along yet, and he can’t just ask to travel with him to the mainland and meet his family. That’d be weird coming from a coworker, right?

Right.

Somehow, he has to subtly convince Danny to invite him to New Jersey with him. He’s puzzling over it on a Wednesday night as he files some old cases. A shadow falls across his desk, and he looks up, ready to admonish whoever it is.

It’s Danny, with this ridiculously smug grin on his face.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Steve blinks. “Paperwork,” he says carefully.

“You never do paperwork.”

“Yes, I--” Steve frowns. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah.”

Steve waits for Danny to say something, but he’s disappointed. “And? What is it?”

“Have you been grumpy all week because I’m leaving in two days to Jersey?”

“I haven’t been--” he can’t finish that sentence, as he suddenly remembers using a car battery to threaten a perp with electrocution. Multiple times.

“You could--” Danny reddens, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “You could come, if you want.”

“Where?”

“New Jersey. My parents would love to meet you.”

“To the--the wedding?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s why I’m going, you know. Of course, if you wanna split up and head to, I dunno, a seminar on explosives and how to destroy freeways with them, that’d be okay.”

Steve laughs, something warm and fluttery invading his stomach. He makes a note to do more crunches in the morning. “Sure, I’d love to come.”

“Great.” Danny's relieved grin is blinding.

-

The plane ride is horrible. Sitting in a cramped space with no tactical exit plans and no gun can really do a guy in. He settles on reading a crappy airport novel he picked up before boarding, complete with inaccurate military jargon, a sexy male lead, excessive explosions, and the horrific and totally inappropriate use of gun oil in one terrifying scene he’ll probably think about next time he sits in a boring meeting.

Danny falls asleep the second the engines start, and Steve’s stuck between a powerful desire to either wake his partner or kiss him on the nose. He pretty much buries his head in the book after that uncomfortable revelation.

“So who’s picking us up?” he asks Danny once they’ve found their baggage.

Danny shrugs. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Steve’s exhausted, and Danny’s vague answer only hikes up his frustration. What the hell does _we’ll see_ even mean?

They reach the pick up area. Danny scans the people holding signs with last names on them, biting his lip. Steve doesn’t notice.

Danny’s gaze lands on someone in the crowd. The lines on his face darken, and he swears. “I told them you--Christ.” He strides toward a withered man in a suit and grabs the sign out of his hands. “I have a guest with me, Harley.”

Steve follows, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of the name on the sign before Danny tosses it.

 _Saibhreas_.

Steve’s blood runs cold. Danny’s clan name from the bar. He was right; it’s Irish. In the stretch limo (which is a surprise--he’d assumed Danny’s family wasn’t well off), he hides his phone under his carry-on and Google Translates the word.

It takes him three tries to type it in correctly; he’s only using one hand to avoid raising suspicion. When it finally loads, Danny says they’ve arrived at the hotel where the wedding will be held. The out-of-town guests will stay there and attend the functions, then check out at the end of the festivities.

The spy novel must be messing with him, because when their check-in takes longer than five minutes thoughts of room mixups and sharing one king bed instead of two queens start creeping into his head. He tries to dispel them by attempting to glance at his phone screen, but Harley observes him with pursed lips and a disapproving frown. He hasn’t even started talking yet, and already the guy hates him. Maybe he can smell Steve’s newfound distrust of the Williamses, or detect his attempted investigation. Fantastic. Great first impression, McGarrett. High five.

“Why so serious, Steven?” Danny smirks. “Aren’t you excited to eat real pizza for once?”

Steve smiles wanly. “No pineapple allowed?”

“None, thank god.”

Their room is on the fifth floor. The lobby’s bright and airy interior does nothing to improve Steve’s mood; his fingers are twitching with the effort of not checking his phone right now. Whatever that Irish word means, he somehow feels it’s integral to this mystery. The mystery of Danny’s family. Oh, god, he’s put his best friend under unofficial investigation. What the hell is he playing at?

He frowns at himself as the elevator chimes amiably on each floor.

Danny elbows him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, M’just tired.” It’s a white lie, but it makes him feel horrid all the same.

“Okay. Early night, and then I can show you ‘round West Orange. How’s that?”

Steves smiles in spite of himself. “Sounds fantastic.”

While Danny brushes his teeth, Steve checks his phone. _Saibhreas_ means ‘wealth’ in Irish. What better name for a crime syndicate than the reason they break the law? His lungs squeeze out a massive sigh. This just keeps getting worse and worse.

He can’t stop looking now.

-

The next day, Danny grabs a sleeping Steve’s arm and yanks him out of bed. He’s on his feet in a second, lunging toward the gun on his nightstand. The fight drains out of him when he sees it’s only Danny.

“Jeez, Danny, there are better ways to wake me up.”

He shrugs, beaming. “Sorry, I’m just excited. You haven’t had hot dogs till you’ve eaten from a hot dog stand in Jersey.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Do you know how many calories are in--”

Danny groans and sticks his fingers in his ears, singing “I don’t care!” as loud as humanly possible at--Steve glances at his watch--six a.m..

Before Steve can stop himself, his hands are gripping Danny’s firm, corded upper arms. “I know you’re excited, brah, but can you keep it down?”

Danny pauses to wink at him before pushing him into the bathroom. “Get dressed, you big lug!”

It’s because he’s jetlagged that his heart is beating a tattoo in his chest, he assures himself firmly.

-

They spend the entire day out; Danny shows Steve all his old haunts: the donut shop, the old precinct, the Pablo’s Pizzeria he’s heard so much about. Steve almost forgets his suspicions--almost. It’s hard to kick back and enjoy this impromptu vacation when he catches people on the street parting for Danny like he’s royalty, or the respectful nods store owners give him when he walks past them.

Danny gets a call when they stop for smoothies at a Jamba Juice. He steps away from Steve, holding up a hand and motioning for Steve to order for them both. Steve purses his lips and nods. He orders two tropical smoothies just for the hell of it.

When Danny returns, he joins Steve at the lightwood bar table facing the street. “Tropical, really? You miss Hawaii that much?”

Steve shrugs, staring at the grey streets absently. “I just did it to fuck with you.”

Danny smirks. “Yeah, no shit.” He slides onto the stool next to Steve, who’s suddenly reminded of a similar scene in a bar almost a month ago.

“Who called?”

“It’s nothing, not a case, Steve.”

“I know.”

“It was my Great Aunt Amelia. She was…” Danny shakes his head wearily. “It doesn’t matter.” Pause. “You know, the funny thing is--and it’s really only funny because you’re gonna laugh at me forever if I tell you this--I actually kind of… might… miss Hawaii.”

Steve blinks and rotates the stool to face Danny.

“Yeah, I know, right? So I was thinking, since you’re clearly in a similar predicament to mine, maybe you’d like to get out of the city for a bit?”

Steve grins. “What did you have in mind?”

-

What Danny has in mind ends up being _awesome_.

Eagle Rock Reservation has both beautiful, traditionally North American scenery and excellent hiking trails--frankly, Steve is shocked Danny voluntarily brought him here to end the day with a hike--which counts as exertion, and Danny hates that.  

The fall air is crisp and clean in his lungs; he feels better now than he’s felt in the past month and a half--since North Korea. Hiking with Danny is a different experience in New Jersey than it is back home: he’s so much quieter here, the silence between them softened by the way they clasp hands to haul each other up steep inclines, and the way their shoulders bump together while they walk.

Before long, they're bounding up a steep incline, puffing with laughter as they navigate rocks with reckless speed. Danny reaches the top first; he waits for McGarrett with a self-satisfied grin. The sun is directly behind him, and Steve zeroes in on the light as it turns his partner's hair to burnished gold, the way Danny's t-shirt, soaked with sweat, clings to his narrow hips and broad shoulders.

His leading foot lands hard on a boulder; he throws himself into the next step, heart flying into his throat as the ground gives way beneath him. He hurtles forward, arms akimbo, ankle twisting too far and then some. The burst of white-hot pain blinds him; he falls without a sound.

"Steve!" Mulch and pebbles skitter across the trail as Danny hurriedly makes his way to his partner.

"Be careful!" Steve rasps. "I'm fine, don't kill yourself!"

Danny reaches him within seconds. He cups Steve's face in both hands and frowns. "Where does it hurt?"

"Nowhere."

Danny glances down at his swollen left ankle and frowns even more. "Is that so."

Steve grins sheepishly. "I don't think it's broken."

"Oh, so you're a field medic now? I'm hauling your ass to the hospital. Can you walk?"

Steve nods, stands, experiences some more of that blinding pain, and finds himself sitting on the ground again. "Whoa."

Danny's face is pinched with worry, and Steve feels horrible for putting it there. How could he be so clumsy? So distracted?

"Lemme call someone, then. You're gonna be fine, Steve, I promise."

Ten minutes and an absurd amount of swearing later, Danny returns with depressing news: no cell service in this neck of the forest, pun to-be-intended at a later date.

"I told you we should have taken the guide," Danny says, holding out a hand to help Steve up. "Don't put any weight on that leg, you hear me, Steven?"

"We don't need a guide, Danno, I'm a Navy SEAL."

"Yeah, babe, but you're not made of titanium."

Steve frowns, but he obeys Danny, standing gingerly on one leg and bracing himself against a sapling. His ankle throbs, each cresting wave bringing nausea. A bead of sweat slides down his nose.

“Okay, so there’s no way you’re making it down that hill and back to civilization on your own, is there?”

Steve blanches at the thought. “You should go down without me and call for help.”

“I’m not leaving you alone up here, Ste--”

“You have to, Danny, it’s the only way--”

“I’ll carry you.”

Steve freezes, mouth open.

“Oh, come on, just because I’m not a SEAL doesn’t mean I can’t--”

“I weigh two hundred pounds, Danny, you can’t carry me down; I won’t let you.”

“Why in the world not?”

“There are rocks! Sharp rocks! If you fall, you’ll kill us both--”

“Then I won’t fall.” Danny crosses his arms and sticks out his chin, and Steve suddenly realizes there’s no way he can dissuade his partner from going through with this, not in his current condition.

“How do you want me?” he asks, slumping against the sapling.

Danny appears to steel himself before blurting, “Close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you.”

Steve doesn’t want to comply, but he’s halfway to passing out already, the pain in his ankle a persistent thrum in his whole body. What if it is broken? Do sprains hurt this much? His eyelids flutter closed of their own volition.

Several sensations besiege Steve’s senses all at once: intense heat, powerful wind, and a sudden drop in light level.

“Open your eyes,” a deep, deep voice purrs.

The latter sensation is easiest to explain. Something is blocking the sun, providing Steve with well-needed shade. Just what that something _is_ , however…

In plain terms, a twelve-foot-tall, forest-green lizard stands in front of Steve, its snout mere inches from his face. “Do you think this size is big enough to carry you? Should I scale it down a notch or two? Because I don’t want you passing out when you climb up or falling off and dying, you know?”

The voice is almost too deep to recognize, but Steve would know that pattern of speech anywhere: Danny’s speaking. So… his Danno’s a lizard?

Apparently he said that out loud, because the lizard’s next words are “Dragon, I’m a dragon, Steve, didn’t you read storybooks as a child? I have wings, I have scales, I have--Are you paying attention?”

Steve shakes his head honestly, because now he can see the wings. Huge leathery sails sprout from the lizard’s--the dragon’s-- _Danny’s_ back. “Oh, am I supposed to ride you?”

“Somebody get the man a prize,” Danny says, shaking out his wings. “Climb up, there’s no time to waste.”

“How? My leg is--” Steve hisses as another tidal wave of pain crashes over him. “not cooperating.”

“Too big, I knew it,” the dragon mutters to himself, and _shrinks_ to the size of a small draft horse. “Better?”

Steve swings himself onto Danny’s back, numb with pain and confusion. “Okay, Danno, giddy-up,” he mumbles, and promptly falls asleep.


	2. chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I REALIZE THIS TOOK LITERALLY THE ENTIRE SUMMER TO WRITE. 
> 
> You'll be pleased to learn I'd written 80-95% of it three months ago and spent the interval time period fucking around and encountering severe difficulty when trying to wrap this damn thing up...
> 
> I'm glad it's finally finished. Hope you liked it. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.

* * *

When he wakes, the pain in his leg is thankfully muted by medications, and a kindly nurse explains to him that not only is his ankle sprained, but his head injury--who knew?--is mild and the headaches should decrease within two to three days.

“How did I get here?” he asks.

The nurse furrows her brows, looking at him with an odd mix of surprise and sympathy. “Your friend brought you. Said you’d fallen down his deck stairs.”

“He--where is he?”

“Getting some coffee, I believe. I suggest you rest until he comes back to take you home.”

-

Danny re-enters the room some twenty minutes later, a half-empty cup of coffee in one hand. Steve is watching episodes of The Blacklist (Agent Ressler reminds him of a taller, graver version of Danny) and refuses to look his friend in the eye.

“Some vacation, huh,” Danny says, pulling up a visitation chair and sinking into it with a grunt and a sigh. “You’ve got three days to rest up and be presentable at the wedding, though, so don’t worry: your brief lapse in manliness won’t be put on display.”

“I had the weirdest dream,” he replies, watching Danny school his face into a carefully blank expression.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, one of those dreams you’re pretty sure really happened, but you just can’t separate the dream from reality.”

“Sounds trippy.”

“I assure you, it is.”

Danny bobs his head awkwardly. He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Nurse says I can take you home. Do you--” he looks down. “Um.”

Steve furrows his brows. He’s never seen that particular expression before; it almost looks like Danno’s nervous--or afraid.

“Are you--Are you asking me if I still want to go home with you?”

Danny splutters. “Well, I’d understand if you didn’t. Want to.”

Steve shakes his head, awed at Danny’s obtuseness. “Just because you’re a lizard--”

“--dragon--”

“--lizard, it doesn’t mean I hate you, or--where the hell do you think I’d go, anyway? We’re sharing a hotel room.”

Danny shrugs, badly attempting to conceal his previous insecurities with bravado. “I’m a pretty terrifying lizard--dragon, now you’ve got me doing it, curse you.” His hands start flailing about, and Steve knows they’re okay--for now. “What are you still doing in that bed? Get up, let’s go, my ma’s invited us to dinner tonight and hell if I’ll let you wreck that ankle again before you meet her.”

Steve nods, sliding gingerly off the hospital bed. He’s likely not going to get much out of Danny, not right now, so he elects to seriously discuss the lizard thing later. “You know, Danno…”

Danny groans. “No, I know that tone, do not start with that tone--”

“It’s just a sprain, it hardly warranted a hospital bed, or--” Steve waves his left forearm in Danny’s face. “an IV line.”

“I was worried.” What a stoic, stoic man.

“So you turned into a lizard--”

“Steven, get in the car before I roast your stupid knightly ass.”

-

Steve thinks about these recent events as Danny drives him to the hotel to freshen up.“Do you have a cave full of gold?”

Danny snorts. “It’s a bank vault.”

“A--a vault?”

“It’s… well, it’s the family vault.” They make it to the elevator, and the doors slide open. Danny leads Steve back to their room, fumbling his way through an explanation before giving up. “Look, just clean up and get dressed; I’ll explain on the way to my parents’ house.”

“Oh, great.” Steve lets himself be ushered into the room, secretly treasuring Danny’s concern. Mostly Danny just loudly chastises Steve when he goes toe-to-toe with danger. This new, careful Danny Williams is otherworldly and exciting. But still loud.

“You were the one who wanted to meet my parents.” Danny tosses a towel at him and makes a shoo! motion with his hands. “You’re filthy, babe.”

Steve wants to protest, except now he’s imagining certain other filthy things he’d rather be doing in the shower, with Danny of-fucking-course, and oh, look, he tripped over the bathmat and fell into the tub.

“Steve!” Danny bangs on the door. “Jesus, I knew I shouldn’t have--”

“Danny, it’s fine,” groans Steve. “I just got a little distracted.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, just--go kidnap a princess, you nosy fucker!”

-

Steve elects to go all out and dress to the nines--or as ‘nines’ as a guy who buys t-shirts in bulk from Costco can go--and shrugs on a brown blazer over his favorite dress shirt (it’s mint green, and Cath says it makes him look approachably unapproachable, whatever that means). Unfortunately, he is a guy who buys all his t-shirts in bulk from Costco, so he only packed jeans and combat boots. It’ll have to do. At least he’s got the cologne Gracie bought him for his birthday, a scent which Steve suspects the little girl did not choose, as it didn’t have glitter bits floating around in the liquid, but rather Danno, which--makes him a sap, yeah.

Even worse, Danny decides to wear that fantastic grey sweater, and Steve is the exact opposite of prepared, nope. The ensemble makes Danny look something like domestic-chic, which proves Steve is a little more than in-lust with the guy and should probably stop consulting Catherine for fashion advice.

But… the way Danny swallows hard when he sees Steve after his shower, hair still damp and curling at his neck, gives him pause. Is it possible that Danny is in… lust with him too?

“Why are you staring at me?” he asks, instead of saying something suave, like Smooth Dog would have. Since when is Steve not Smooth Dog? Since Danny. This is getting ridiculous.

“Because you look civilized,” Danny replies immediately, but his ears turn red and no-no, Steve does not think that is cute, he thinks it’s embarrassing, because they are men, manly men, and men may want to casually fuck each other (casually) but they certainly did not find each other adorable, no they did not.

“I always look civilized!”

Danny mock-studies him, frowning. “You’re right; you always look like that. Guess a tailor-fit blazer can’t hide crazy.”

Steve wants to disagree, but Danny is still faintly pink, and he’s still wearing that sweater, and oh, fuck it, he’s screwed.

-

“Danny?”

“Yeah, babe?”

Steve continues to pretend Danny’s use of ‘babe’ doesn’t give him the fuzzies. “Um, why are you a dragon?”

“All my folks are dragons.”

Steve’s pretty sure his eyes bug out of his head. “The folks I’m about to meet for the first time?”

Danny looks at him, hands steady on the wheel as he takes the ramp onto the freeway. “How many sets of parents do you think I have?”

“I just--you mean--what?”

Danny sighs. “Dragons live in clans, and my clan is based in New Jersey.”

Steve sits up in the car seat. “Clans? Like Saibhreas? and Mokupuni?”

“Yeah, how’d you--” Danny groans a little. “That night in the bar.”

“What, you think you can fool me with a shitty lie and an obvious misdirect? I am a Navy SEAL, Danno.”

Danny sucked his teeth petulantly. “You were drinking on the job.”

“One drink, Danno! And--that’s not the point. I know what Saibhreas means.”

Danny takes a right turn, throwing Steve a sarcastic look before returning to the road.

“I can operate Google Translate.”

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies mildly.

“That guy--Koa--he was a dragon too?”

Danny nods. “He was concerned that I’d move in on his territory, or take kona mau wahine mo’o, which is gross, because volcanic dragons are weird.”

Steve’s throat works, unable to make a sound for a few moments. “I have so many questions,” he says finally.

Danny rolls his eyes. “So ask, doofus.”

“Did you just speak Hawaiian?”

“Uh, yes,” Danny says sheepishly. “Dragons have the gift of the tongue--No, Steven, do not make that joke, you Neanderthal.” He bites his lip, turns off the highway into a suburban town. “I can speak and understand any language.”

“But you make such a fuss about learning Pidgin!”

“Yeah, of course, because if I didn’t, you’d wonder why I’m so damn good at it!”

Steve jerks his head away from Danny’s heated glare and stares out the window. “Any other weird powers I should know about?”

“I have complete resistance to heat--”

“Is that why you didn’t burn when I spilled hot coffee on you?”

“No, Steven, I was so immersed in my intense hatred of you that--yes, that’s why!”

“Okay, calm down.”

Danny pulls into the driveway of an immense house and cuts the engine. “Sorry. You’re kinda-maybe-sorta the only human I’ve told.”

Well, that can’t be right. “What about Rachel?”

Danny flaps a noncommittal hand in Steve’s face. “She’s one-fourth Fae.”

“What?”

Steve would be lying through his one-hundred percent human teeth if he said he wasn’t flattered all the same.

“Story for another time,” Danny says distantly.

Steve so wants to press the issue but decides against it at Danny’s troubled expression. “So, volcanic dragons are weird?”

Danny seems to shake himself out of his reverie and nods. “Yeah--they don’t hoard anything. It’s weird and unnatural.”

“And you… do?”

Danny yanks the keys out of the ignition and hauls himself out of the car. “Yeah. I mean, aside from the Clan treasure, I’ve got a suitcase in my shit-flat full of seashells, Grace’s artwork, sea glass, and obsidian. Pretty things.” His voice changes when he talks about his hoard, and Steve is suddenly presented with a disturbingly vibrant image: Danny in dragon form, sleeping peacefully on a pile of colorful beach things and Hawaiian tourist souvenirs.

“Sea glass?”

Danny shrugs. “Every once in a while I miss the gold.”

Steve follows Danny out of the car and toward his parents’ house. He cranes his neck, committing the exterior layout of the mansion to memory. It’s huge, colonial style, and white, every inch polished and definitely too high class to mesh comfortably with his mental image of Danny. He’d imagined a comfortable house that represented the unbreakable bonds of family and tomato sauce or something, not this imposing marble courthouse.

“What’s up?” Danny nudges his ribcage with his elbow.

“Little bigger than I expected.”

“The house? Yeah. Well. We have a vault full of gold. It happens.” Danny slams the ornate doorknocker a few times. “I’ll explain more later, okay?”

Steve nods, swallows, then looks at Danny out of the corner of his eyes. “You trust me, right?”

The answering hand on his arm is enough to quell the self-doubt rising like a tidal wave inside him, but Danny’s whispered words do even better: “Ever since I punched you.”

Steve smiles.

The door opens, revealing a diminutive blond woman with smile lines around her eyes and a bright red apron tied around her hips. She blinks at Steve blankly before her gaze lands on Danny, eyes lighting up. She pulls him in for a hug, tutting when Danny blushes and groans. “Ma…”

When they break their embrace, she looks at Steve again--but this time she seems like she’s evaluating him. The fact that he’d just learned she was also a dragon did not help to steady his nerves. The last thing he needs is Mama Williams deciding her boy could do better--partner-wise, of course--and banning them from each other. Or incinerating him.

She must have seen something she liked, though, because Mrs Williams’ face brightens. “You must be Steve; Danny’s told me so much about you--”

“Ma!”

She rolls her eyes and beckons the two of them inside, patting Steve’s shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same to you, ma’am.”

The hall is long and tasteful with pictures hanging on the walls: Danny and two short, blonde women, Danny’s mother and father--a group picture of presumably the whole family (clan?), relatives and all, from about fifteen years ago.

“Darling, I know you’re a military man, but don’t call me ‘ma’am’. ‘Ma’ or Maisie is fine.”

Danny elbowed him and shot him an amused look. “She likes you,” he mouths.

“Are you surprised?” he mouths back, throwing in a rakish grin for good measure.

Maisie ushers them into the kitchen. “Dinner’s spaghetti with my special sauce tonight, you two. Is that alright?”

Danny sighs. “Ma, I told you beforehand that Steve was coming so you wouldn’t--”

“I’m sure he can handle it,” she says as she throws open the pantry door and disappears inside.

Steve smirks. “Yeah, Danny, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Danny opens his mouth to say something, freezes, then smiles slowly. “If you say so, Steven.”

“Wait--what do you mean--”

“Hey, you think you can handle it,” Danny interrupts, holding his hands up in a very familiar gesture. “You’re a Navy SEAL, immune to shitty lies and obvious misdirects; who am I to stop you?”

And that’s the best and worst part about Danny: the best because no one’s ever stood tall under Steve’s intimidating glare before, whipped back what he threw before, enjoyed the shit out of it as much as he does before, but the worst because he doesn’t know how to deal with that, like, at all.

Maisie returns, sprinkles something into the sauce, and joins Steve and Danny leaning against the countertop. She raises an eyebrow when she notices their staring contest and speaks: “It’s just your sisters and us tonight.”

“Oh? Where’s Dad?”

Maisie flicks her eyes to Steve and back to Danny; he’d have missed it if he wasn’t watching Maisie for her reaction. “He’s finalizing that business deal.”

Danny dips a finger into the bubbling sauce, sucks it off his finger, and hums with delight. Steve shifts uncomfortably at the sound--and the mental picture it painted. “You mean the one with the Indian clan?”

“Don’t sample the sauce, Daniel. And yes, that one.” Maisie shoots Danny a not-so-subtle look that clearly said Stop talking, you’ll blow our cover. Steve has plenty of experience with that expression.

Danny shakes his head. “Ma, he knows.”

“About?” she says, dusting her hands on her apron, though they looked pretty clean to Steve.

“About the thing.”

“What thing?”

Steve thinks, _What the hell_ , and blurts, “The lizard thing.”

Maisie and Danny both smack him on the arm and hiss, “Dragon.”

“You told him?” Maisie says, raising an eyebrow at her son. “The last person you told was--”

“Rachel, Ma, I know, but she’s--”

“--half Fae, so it doesn’t count. So you claim.”

“A quarter,” mumbles Danny.

“I’m still very confused about the dragon thing,” interjects Steve.

“I’ll explain later.”

“And keep your voice down,” Maisie chastises. “You never know who’s listening.”

Steve hopes Danny doesn’t think so low of him as a detective that he can’t tell Danny’s avoiding discussing the issue, because it’s fucking obvious.

Danny mock-frowns. “Who would listen in on such a picturesque, normal family?”

“Russians,” she spits. “ _Zmeya yaichki_ , the lot of them.”

Danny snorts, dipping his finger in the sauce once more and dodging a swat from his mother. “Very creative.”

“Snake testicles?” Steve translates hesitantly. His Russian is good, but not that good. Clearly the gift of tongues belonged to the other Williams too.

“Indeed they are, Steven.”

“You don’t like Russians?” asks Steve, because he really feels like he should verify.

“I like them if they’re human. Russian _drakony_ , not so much.”

Steve looks to Danny for an explanation. His partner had found a spoon and started demolishing the spaghetti sauce. When he looks up, his face is flushed with heat, and a droplet of tomato remains in the corner of his mouth. Steve’s throat goes dry.

“Daniel Michael Williams, you leave that sauce alone, you hear me?” Maisie says, whipping a kitchen towel at her son. “You’re not the only wyrm eating tonight.”

“Okay, Ma, jeez. Sorry.” He holds his hands in a pacifying gesture and migrates to the other end of the kitchen under his mother’s watchful eye. “I won’t touch the sauce.”

Steve has never missed his mother more than he does now, the pain a hollow ache in his chest. This is what he could have had, if Wo Fat hadn’t snatched his mom up twenty years ago.

Danny touches Steve’s shoulder to emphasize something he’s telling Maisie, and the tightness beneath his breastbone eases just a little. He may not have his mother, but he has Danny, and with Danny comes his entire family, so maybe, just maybe, he can have a home again, here in New Jersey as well as in Hawaii.

“So why don’t we like the Russians?” asks Steve.

Danny scrapes the sauce off his lip and wrinkles his nose. “Clan Namotki betrayed Clan Saibhreas during the Second World War. We lost an entire vault of our gold to them.”

“And then we crushed them in the Cold War!” Maisie cheers.

Danny rolls his eyes like they’ve had this conversation before. “Ma, no one won the Cold War.”

“I’m sorry; point me to the Soviet Union on the map, then.”

“ _Ma_ \--”

Danny doesn’t have to continue, however, because the doorbell rings just then.

“That’ll be your sisters,” she says to Danny, then claps Steve on the back. “Watch the sauce for me, Sailor.” When she opens the door to greet her daughters, their voices wash over Steve, distant and warm.

Steve smiles softly and makes eye contact with Danny, who smirks in that way of his and makes his way back to the pot. He dips a finger into the sauce and sucks it off slowly, raising an eyebrow when Steve grabs the edge of the counter to steady himself. God, Danny’s lips around his finger and the little moan from the back of his throat, Jesus H. Christ, if he could just--

Wait, what is he doing? Is he fantasizing about his partner during dinner with his mother?

No, of course not, right, because wouldn’t that prove he’s just as crazy as Danny always says?

And Danny’s still looking at him like he’s in on the greatest joke in the world, and that’s probably what it was, a joke, not some sort of tomatoey foreplay.

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from Danny’s, staring at him like he’s an oasis after years of dry desert sand. His throat closes up; he’s never wanted to grab someone by the collar and kiss them as badly as he does now, and the worst part is Danny’s still oblivious, smiling at him like everything’s alright, like it’s all peachy--

Danny’s mother and sisters enter the kitchen, but Steve still feels punched in the gut.

Danny introduces his sisters as Molly and Annie. They have Danny’s eyes and smile, but the girls are tall and lean, at least three inches taller than Danny, and Steve can’t help but raise an eyebrow and shoot Danny a look. He responds with an eyeroll and a light-but-menacing press of his bare foot on Steve’s.

Steve is pretty sure he didn’t blush like a schoolgirl, but when Danny’s gaze lingers on him a little too long he begins to doubt himself.

“So, Danny,” Molly says, elbowing him lightly. “is this the famed Steve McGarrett?”

Danny ducks his head. “Hardly famed, more like the reason I have knots in my shoulders and high blood pressure, but this--” he claps his hand on Steve’s shoulder and keeps it there, leaning on him until his entire forearm is glued to his back and he sways a little, “--is Steven.”

Steve grins, because that implies Danny’s been ranting about him to his sisters, and isn’t that just cute--um, uh, not cute, just--yeah.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, clearing his throat against its sudden tightness. Danny’s mother said something about digging up her good whiskey (hey, a drunk Danno is a happy Danno, he won’t complain), and left the room.

“Same to you,” Molly says, shaking his hand. Her smile is warm, eyes twinkling. “Danny’s told us so much about you.”

Danny blanches. “Oh, oh no you don’t, Molls, you don’t get to embarrass me in front of my friend--”

Annie snickers. “Friend.”

“--or I’ll tell Ma what you two did during Spring Break your senior year in college.”

The girls freeze, almost comically, and Annie pouts. “You’re no fun.”

Steve has no idea what’s going on. “What happened during Spring Break?”

Molly waves an unconcerned hand. “Just a few minor explosions--”

“Jimi Hendrix--”

“An obscene amount of glitter, don’t forget--”

“And this totally chill Crossroads demon.”

“Annie! You can’t talk about that--”

“There are demons, too?” Steve asks, staring at Danny. “Dragons, Fae, demons? What else is there?”

Molly freezes mid-rant, looking uncannily like her brother. “He--knows?”

“You told him?”

Steve raises a hand. “Right here, you know.”

“Is he gonna eat Ma’s sauce?” Annie asks in a stage whisper, eyes wide.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Steve says. “No one will tell me why I shouldn’t.”

“It’s spicy,” Molly says, as if that explains anything.

“Danny won’t even eat cucumbers with chili powder,” Steve protests. “He’s afraid of spice.”

“Uh, actually--and I swear I’ve told you this--I’m allergic to cucumbers.”

“What?”

“I’m allergic to cucumbers.”

“Well, most cucumbers,” quips Annie, winking.

It--it goes well, actually. Steve actually thinks he may have impressed Danny’s family for once, which is nice in a friend way and absolutely wonderful in a--not friend… way.

-

Maisie chases Danny and Steve out of their estate by 2 am, citing 'a normal circadian cycle' (whatever that is) as a legitimate reason to send her squabbling children away to their respective hotels. The car ride back to their hotel is quiet but not awkward, the space between them softened by good food and  _really_ good alcohol. Steve can still hear Danny's sisters chattering and explaining the funnier parts of being a dragon, and he remembers the soft tilt of Maisie's smile as she watched him watch Danno, and he knows--he  _knows_ \--they're gonna be alright.

He especially remembers Danny curling up against him on the couch, every breath tickling his ear, and in that moment Steve made eye contact with Danny and saw in his sleepy blue eyes a whirlpool of affection rising up to claim him, and now he can admit--

He kinda, probably, sorta-possibly-maybe  _loves_  Danny. 

And it doesn't feel like loving Catherine (flames on his skin) and it doesn't feel like loving his parents (a long-forgotten hum) and it certainly doesn't feel like loving Mary-Anne (bitter coals of affection). It feels like... 

The ocean. Danny may be born of fire, but loving him is like the gentle sway of the ocean on his calves, his back, his shoulders, until he's in over his head and drowning--but unafraid.

He supposes it was inevitable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the special sauce's secret ingredient is like a thousand ghost peppers. it's so spicy that steve probably cried. i am pleased with myself. 
> 
> I originally thought this would be longer, but the boys refused to cooperate (and my schedule certainly didn't help). 
> 
> comments, concrit and kudos really appreciated.


End file.
